


To Dream

by sapphire_child



Series: Season 12 Bits [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean-Centric, Dreams and Nightmares, Episode: s12e01 Keep Calm and Carry On, Gen, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 04:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8357932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphire_child/pseuds/sapphire_child
Summary: When Dean was maybe five or six, there were several months where he’d had a vivid, recurring dream about his mom. He’d dreamt about her prior to that of course – mainly facsimiles of memories, or re-imagining of things that his dad had told him about her.

  These were different.
Or, Dean's reunion with his mom isn't anything like what he thought it might be like - but he'll take what he can get.





	

**Author's Note:**

> We'll see how many bits I'm inspired to write after each episode. I've got two thus far for 12x01, and I have at least one tiny snippet for 12x02 so hopefully I might get a few little shorts out during the season.

When Dean was maybe five or six, there were several months where he’d had a vivid, recurring dream about his mom. He’d dreamt about her prior to that of course – mainly facsimiles of memories, or re-imagining of things that his dad had told him about her.

These were different.

In this dream, Mary was returned to her family as perfect as the day she’d died. The setting usually changed to whatever no-tell motel they had made their home for that week, but her entrance was always the same. After stepping through the door with a beaming smile on her face there would be a romance novel embrace and a kiss for John. Sammy would run to her next, all chubby legs and insensible toddler squealing as she swooped him up into her arms.

Dean was always last. His mom would catch sight of him over the top of Sammy’s unruly curls and she would give him a soft smile.

“Mommy.”

She never spoke. With her younger son deposited safely into John’s arms, she would kneel so that she and Dean could see eye to eye. She would open her arms to him. And Dean…

Sometimes he got close enough to be swept up into his mother’s embrace. Other times the distance between them stretched and he was left running, crying out to her and unable to reach the safety of her arms.

Dean couldn’t have said which ones were worse. He tried to tell his dad about the dreams once, and about the devastating emptiness they left in their wake.

“They’re just dreams son.” was John’s impatient response. “They can’t hurt you.”

It had seemed vastly unfair at the time, especially when John was very obviously dreaming about Mary himself. His recurring night terrors were often so intense that Dean would sit up in bed for hours, stricken with fear. His early, gentle hearted attempts to help his father feel better were soon met with frustrated anger, or worse, blustering ignorance. Dean learned quickly enough that the best way to deal with his own nightmares was to just stifle his sobs in his pillow so that John and Sammy wouldn’t wake. On his worst nights, John blamed Dean for waking the baby, regardless of whether it was his fault or not.

In hindsight, he understands his fathers’ hypocrisy a lot better than might like. But then, there’s a lot of things about his dad – and specifically about his upbringing – that he understands better now that he’s older.

It doesn’t make it any less shitty though.

 

 

When Mary stands in front of Dean, newly resurrected, he feels momentarily like he has slipped back into one of those dreams. Memory upon memory slam against each other and vie for space in his consciousness – it’s been a very long time since he’s contemplated those early years.

The reality is vastly different. First off, she has him on the ground quicker than he can blink, and even once she lets him up and reaches out to him it’s not with familiarity but with caution. She searches his face for some lingering vestiges of her little boy, and it takes a long moment before a flicker of recognition lights up her gaze. When she steps into his arms for the first time and holds him, tentatively circling her arms around his shoulders as though trying to feel him out, it’s all he can do to hold her back.

They hold each other, gingerly, for a long moment. Eventually Mary gives an involuntary shudder and he realises that she’s begun to shake from the cold – though it could just as easily be from shock, or just from suppressed sobs. He strips his jacket carefully and once it’s nestled over her shoulders he steers her to a bench. She sits quietly, tears falling softly from time to time.

“Okay so…how?” she manages. It should be easy to answer. Technically. Except his moms been rudely dragged back to the mortal plane by a being of almost infinite power after being dead for more than thirty years (and how exactly is Dean going to explain the cluster fuck that is his life?) and all for what? To give Dean a damn hug? When the sun comes up is she going to just melt away, like the dreams he had as a child?

Dean considers pinching himself, tries his best to squash the nagging reminder of his father’s voice down, and then takes a deep breath.

“It’s kind of a long story.”

Mary raises her eyebrows at him, somehow managing to look imperious even though she’s obviously struggling to keep from crying. Dean is reminded abruptly of her at nineteen and his heart breaks all over again.

“You got somewhere else you need to be?” she asks.

He considers her for a moment and then looks out into the park. Sunrise is still a little way away yet.

It’s not how he dreamed it, but he’ll take whatever he can get.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a comment or kudos, I adore getting comments, even if it's just incoherent flailing.


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